


Nemesis

by Zoe Rayne (MontanaHarper)



Series: Virtuoso of Deceit [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Early Work, Healing Sex, M/M, POV First Person, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1997-03-01
Updated: 1997-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:11:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontanaHarper/pseuds/Zoe%20Rayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skinner takes his anger out on Krycek and Mulder watches, both shocked and aroused. Tunguska A/U.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nemesis

**Author's Note:**

> **Original A/N:** Thanks to Mitch for proofreading skills, to KA for her understanding and to everyone who beta read it: CL, L, SG, S, and V, you guys are great!
> 
>  **AO3 A/N:** This is an example of my very early exploration of fanfic. For historical purposes I'm leaving it as it was originally posted, including the summary. Even if a lot of it makes me cringe now.

> "I became a virtuoso of deceit. It wasn't pleasure I was after, it was knowledge. I consulted the strictest moralists to learn how to appear, philosophers to find out what to think and novelists to see what I could get away with. And, in the end, I distilled everything down to one wonderfully simple principle: win or die."  
> —Merteuil, _Dangerous Liaisons_  
> 

  
**nem e sis (nèm¹î-sîs) noun**  
Retributive justice in its execution or outcome.

"He'll be safe here," Skinner said. I pushed Krycek into the apartment and closed the door behind us. Without warning Skinner's fist connected, first with Krycek's stomach, then with his jaw. It happened so quickly that Krycek was a limp navy heap on the beige carpet before I could react. I opened my mouth to protest, but Skinner's gaze met mine and I could see the anger in his expression. Perhaps some of that was reflecting from me.

"Do you have anything to drink?" I said instead.

Skinner waved a hand towards the kitchen. "Make yourself at home," he said. Then he hefted Krycek over one muscular shoulder as though the unconscious man was a child and carried him into another room. I slipped my jacket off and draped it over a chair, then loosened my tie and pulled it over my head, allowing it to drop on top of the jacket.

I walked slowly to the kitchen, trying not to think about my father, about Dana's sister. I believe in many things—things that Scully claims are irrational and the result of an overactive imagination—even so I couldn't bring myself to believe that Krycek was not involved in their murders.

The rational part of my mind knows that justice should be meted out by the system, that vengeance has no place in the life of an FBI agent. But right then rational was the last thing I wanted to be. There were so many regrets in my life already; I didn't want one of them to be letting that murdering son of a bitch go unpunished.

Still, a small part of me wondered whether I was simply being spiteful. Did I truly want to avenge the deaths of Melissa and my father, or was I merely angry because I'd allowed myself to be deceived by him? Was I just seeking retribution for a lover's betrayal?

It was easier to slake my physical thirst than to contemplate my thirst for revenge. That kind of deep introspection is best done while gazing into the bottom of a beer mug. I unbuttoned the cuffs on my shirt and rolled the sleeves up. The Assistant Director's refrigerator was a stereotypical bachelor's—virtually empty except for a multitude of take-out cartons. As I reached for a can of soda I heard something from the next room. It was a low moan, almost a sob.

I didn't want to hear it. I didn't want to know what might be happening to my former partner. I didn't even want to think about him anymore. I just wanted to get on with my life, get on with my search for the truth. My hand was on the knob and I was ready to walk out Skinner's front door when something Scully had said came back to haunt me.

"It's funny," she had said. "I just realized something. How much you're like Ahab. You're so consumed by your personal vengeance against life, whether it be its inherent cruelties or its mysteries"

Was I now on my way to hunt down the white whale, ignoring anything that would not further my search? I turned back and followed the sounds until I came to a closed door. Turning the knob gently, I pushed it open and stood in the doorway of a small bedroom. I tried to take in the scene inside that room. It was tame compared to the strange things that Scully and I have seen in the course of our investigations, but still it stopped me cold and left me floundering, unsure how to react.

Krycek lay flat on his stomach in the middle of a wrought-iron four-poster bed, a pillow tucked beneath his hips. I saw a glint of silver at his wrists; he was handcuffed, his arms stretched over his head and held in place by a cord tied to the headboard. Each ankle was encircled by a black strap, which was in turn tied to the footboard with a cord, keeping his legs spread apart. His clothing was in a pile close to my feet and his bare skin looked oddly white against the blackness of the sheets.

Skinner stood next to the bed, his jeans unbuttoned and his thumbs hooked in the waistband. He stopped for a moment and looked at me, his expression one I will never forget. Pure, unadulterated hate. It felt as though his passion, his anger was burning into me. I wonder if I looked like that in the storage lot when Krycek stepped down from the cab of the truck. I dropped my gaze to the floor and when I looked up again Skinner had pushed his jeans down and was stepping out of them.

I guess I had known from the moment I opened the bedroom door what Skinner intended. Until that moment I never would have guessed that he had so much rage bottled up inside him. His was nearly a match for my own anger towards my former partner. Nearly, but not quite. I closed my eyes and savored the image of my father as I had last seen him. He lay unmoving, bathed in harsh, unforgiving light as his life slowly trickled away onto the linoleum. When I opened my eyes again I had no reservations, no desire to stop Skinner's actions. I wanted to see Krycek suffer for the pain he had caused.

He was kneeling between Krycek's legs, his right hand working a growing erection. I found myself focusing on Skinner's defined, muscular form. I had gotten into the habit of thinking of the Assistant Director as a desk man, one who could no longer handle the rigors of field work. I was mistaken. Muscles rippled across his back as his hand moved rhythmically on his cock. Watching the scene, knowing the only possible outcome, I felt stirrings in my own loins but tried to ignore them.

He reached down and grabbed Krycek's hips, pulling him upwards. Another quiet sob escaped the bound man's lips but I wouldn't—I could not—look at his face.

Skinner's hand moved to his mouth and he unceremoniously spat into his palm and lubricated himself with the saliva. Guiding his penis with one hand, he pressed it against Krycek's sphincter muscle. I heard the bound man gasp at the contact. _This is for my father, you bastard._ With a sudden hard thrust Skinner forced himself inside, pulling back on his victim's hips until his shaft drove as deep as possible.

Krycek screamed.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't look away, but I couldn't watch. I closed my eyes, trying to conjure up the vision of my dying father. Krycek's muffled screams intruded into my thoughts until I could no longer picture my father's death. So I thought of Scully, of her pain at the loss of her sister. That was something I could understand, could empathize with. That pain could drown out Krycek's agony. Melissa had done nothing. She was an innocent, in the wrong place at the wrong time. The son-of-a-bitch had mistaken her for Scully and murdered her. And he'd had every intention of murdering Scully.

When I opened my eyes, I could hate him again. His body was stiff, every muscle tensed against the torture Skinner was putting him through. And Skinner was being thorough, pounding his cock into Krycek's ass with a frightening ferocity, mindless of the blood that coated his shaft. Skinner's body was covered with a sheen of perspiration and he smiled a grim smile. I relished my former partner's cries, each one arousing me more and fulfilling my need for revenge. _This is for Melissa Scully. And for any other innocents who died at your hands._

Skinner's body tensed, his muscles rigid under his skin as he held his hips tightly against Krycek. As he came, the last of the tension and frustration faded from his face. He moved easily off the bed, penis still semi-erect, and retrieved his jeans from the floor. Reaching into a pocket, he produced a handcuff key. He walked toward me and I automatically stepped into the room to allow him to pass.

"I'm going to take a shower," he said, handing me the key. "Here. He's all yours." He was relaxed and there was no longer any sign of the demon that had been driving him. I watched his retreating back until he disappeared into another room and closed the door. I looked down at the key in my hand, suddenly much more aware of my own erection. The last of my own anger slipped away, to be replaced with embarrassment—at my reactions and at being a party to this kind of vigilante justice.

I looked up at Krycek. His dignity had been stripped away with his clothing. He turned his head to face me and his green eyes were pleading. "Mulder," he whispered, almost too quiet for me to hear. It took my breath away and left me with a sick sensation in the pit of my stomach.

It was so strange to see him like this, so different from the last time I had seen his bare flesh, caressed his body with my touch. He had always been the one in control, running our relationship the way he wanted it. And I'd let him. Suddenly I remembered something he had told me once, the first night I shared my bed with him.

"Mulder, I need you to understand," he had said. "There are some things I can't do. I need to be in control. It's nothing to do with you…just something that happened when I was young.

"It was late and I was out walking—anything to be away from home, away from the shouting and slamming doors. That was my only peace, back then—walking through the silent streets with the darkness blotting out everything else." He had paused and stared off into space for a moment and I wondered what his childhood must have been like.

"I didn't know it at the time," he'd continued, "but the varsity football team had lost the key game of the season that night. I wouldn't have cared if I _had_ known. But the team caredand I was an easy target. There were maybe a dozen of them, drunk and angry." This time when he'd hesitated I'd seen the muscles in his jaw working. I'd reached out my hand, but he'd recoiled from my touch.

"They raped me, Mulder." He spoke through clenched teeth. "They held me down and they took turns raping me and beating me. I spent more than a month in the hospital where the doctors told me I was lucky I hadn't died from my injuries."

Coming back to the present, I realized I was clenching the key in my fist. Shit. What could I say to him? _This is for your betrayal. I stood by and watched while you were raped again because you made me feel used._ What had I been thinking? I moved over to the bedside, looking down into his red-rimmed eyes, into the depths of his pain.

"Alex…" My voice caught in my throat and I knelt on the bed, releasing his wrists from their bondage. The handcuffs had cut deeply into his skin, leaving bloody welts around each wrist. He pulled his arms down under his chest and closed his eyes. Tears spilled from underneath his eyelids and soaked into the bed. I couldn't watch his suffering. I turned to the foot of the bed, unbuckling the leather straps from his ankles.

As soon as he was loose he curled up into a ball, clutching the pillow to himself as though it would protect him from further pain. I sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching out and putting my hand to his shoulder. He jerked back from my touch as though I'd burned him, his eyes snapping open.

"Why?" he asked, his voice still barely audible.

I still didn't know how to answer him. Finally I sighed. "For my father, for Melissa Scully, for everyone that you've destroyed. I thought I could judge you and find you guilty of those crimes, and that I could live with letting Skinner carry out your sentence."

"And can you, Mulder?" he asked, a little stronger this time. His body was trembling, and I reached out to pull part of the covers over him. He continued, "Can you live with it? Can you live with knowing that you've played into their hands, that you've bought what they were selling without so much as questioning it?"

I felt as though I'd been sucker-punched. In the distance I heard the front door slam. I looked down at him, into his eyes. All I saw was hurt and betrayalno guardedness, no deception. I reached out my hand again, this time to stroke his cheek with my fingers. For a moment he didn't move, then he reached out to me, arms encircling my waist. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, holding him as sobs wracked his body.

Gradually he relaxed into me. The trembling had stopped and his breathing was more regular. I ran my hand slowly down his shoulder to his waist. He shivered and gasped at the touch. I quickly moved my hand back to his shoulder, not wanting to hurt him. Not wanting to hurt the man I had so recently wanted to kill.

He pulled his face away from my chest and whispered, "You don't need to stop." He continued, his voice choked with emotion, "Please don't stop. I need your touch, something gentle to take away the hell."

I looked into his eyes and saw something there that I had never seen before: vulnerability. In all the time we had been lovers, Alex had never needed me, had never opened himself up to me. Is this what it took for us to truly mean something to one another?

Silently, I slipped his arms from around my waist. I stood up, quickly slipping out of my clothes. My own erection was already firm again just from the feel of his body next to mine. I lay back down on the bed, trying to press as much of my bare flesh against his as possible. I found myself staring into his eyes, trying to decide what he was thinking, how he was feeling. Slowly, he closed his eyelids and touched his lips gently to mine.

I almost pulled away from him, but emotions overwhelmed me and I relaxed into his kiss. When he finally eased the pressure of his lips against mine and opened his eyes to look at me, I could hardly find the words to ask him what I needed to know.

"Alex, why?"

"Why what?" he whispered, brushing back a lock of my hair that had fallen in front of my eyes.

"Why me, why now, why a kiss?" There was so much that I wanted answered. He had never kissed me before. He'd always said kissing made him feel too exposed.

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. "Because," he said, "I wanted to kiss you." No answers to the rest of the question; but then, it didn't really need answering right now.

I pushed his shoulders away from me until he was lying on his back. Gently I kissed his chest, tickling his nipples with my tongue and moving slowly downwards across his flat stomach. A soft moan escaped him as my lips lightly touched sensitive skin. His body relaxed under my touch until it almost felt like we had never been apart. I reached the patch of thick black hair and began to kiss my way up the shaft of his cock until I reached the tip. I could hear his breathing become more ragged as I ran my tongue around the head. I slowly sank down onto it until his erection filled my mouth and throat. I heard a quick intake of breath, followed by a low moan of pleasure.

When I looked up towards his face, sliding my mouth up the shaft of his cock as I did so, he was smiling. Carelessly he reached down and twined his fingers into my hair.

"Mmmm, Mulder, that feels just right. _You_ feel just right."

I continued to work my mouth up and down the shaft of his penis, occasionally grazing it gently with my teeth to elicit louder and more intense reactions. My hand strayed down to where my own cock was aching with arousal. I could feel Alex building to climax, throbbing rhythmically against my tongue.

"Wait."

I stopped, pulling back until my lips were no longer wrapped around his cock. "What do you want me to do?"

"Take me," he replied, hesitantly. "Fuck me." When he saw the uncertainty in my expression, he added, "Please, Mulder. Trust me. I've dealt with this before. Refusing to give up control didn't keep it from happening again. Let me deal with it my way?"

For an instant I wondered whether I was a fool to listen to him. The one constant in my life for the past few years had been "trust no one." Was I really ready to hand all the cards back to Alex Krycek? But then, he was trusting me, too.

I reached for the drawer of the nightstand, rummaging through Skinner's personal effects. Finally, beneath the handgun and stack of skin magazines, I found a tube of lubricant. I knelt between Alex's legs, not quite sure how to do what he asked.

"I want to be facing you. I want to see your eyes and be able to touch you," he said.

I spread the lubricant generously over my cock. Even the gentlest touch now made me ache for release. I don't know what expression crossed my face when I looked at the bruised and torn flesh where Skinner had taken him, but it must have been bad because Alex said, "I'll be all right. I've survived worse than this before."

As gently as I could I pressed the tip of my cock against the opening and slowly began increasing the pressure, trying to watch both what I was doing and how he was reacting to it. As my cock began to slide slowly inside him I could feel his muscles tense in response to the pain. I heard a sharp intake of breath and looked up to see Alex's lower lip between his teeth and a trickle of blood dripping from his mouth. Silently he nodded at me and I continued the pressure until I was completely inside him. As I began to sort through the sensations I realized how good it felt to be inside him—to just rest there, my body sheathed in his.

He reached out and took my hand, guiding it to his waning erection. I slowly stroked it and felt it come back to life beneath my fingers. Gently I followed the familiar rhythm, remembering all the times before when I had touched him like this. I could feel the twitching of his body as he neared climax. He tensed and his sphincter tightened around me as he came.

I heard myself gasp at the sensation. My over-stimulated cock couldn't hold back any longer. The orgasm that had been building since I first saw him, naked and spread-eagled on the bed, finally found release.

When I opened my eyes, Alex was smiling at me. I lowered my body onto his, content to wrap my arms around him and hold him to me. _This is for my betrayal, Alex. Because I stood by and watched you be hurt. Because I loved you once and I'm not sure that I don't love you still._


End file.
